


Stress Management

by BadDecisionsAndGoodWriting



Series: Freddy is a Killjoy, You're a Nuisance, This Can Only Go Well [1]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Everyone Has Issues, F/M, Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, Hate Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, No Romance, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Stress, Stress Relief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 20:51:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11494503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadDecisionsAndGoodWriting/pseuds/BadDecisionsAndGoodWriting
Summary: It’s not your damn fault that Freddy is such a worrywart, but he always takes it out on you. You’re not sure if he’s ever relaxed in his life. Maybe it’s about time you did something about it… before he kills the both of you.





	Stress Management

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've ever written a full smut, so I would really appreciate any constructive criticisms that you may have. I also tried to make it applicable to both sexes.
> 
> If you want to get updates on stories, hear announcements on what I'm writing, any fanart for the fandoms I write for, or just want to keep up to date with me, please check out my tumblr at [ShirleyTheSpiderStar](https://shirleythespiderstar.tumblr.com/)! Because I cannot be sure that people are seeing what I have to say, like announcements, I'd encourage you to check out the link now and then so you can stay updated. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy the story.

“Do you know why I called you in here?” Asks Freddy as he folds his hands together.

“Why are you talking to me like I’ve just been called into the principal’s office?” You say as you cross your arms. 

“Why did you think it was ok to yell at our guests?”

You stare at him in disbelief. “They were about to start a food fight! You would have done the same!” 

Freddy gives out a big, over the top sigh. “Here at Freddy Fazbear’s,” you roll your eyes at the incoming lecture, “we strive to treat our guests with the utmost respect, to ensure that they have the best possible time. As an employee of this fine establishment it is your duty to—are you even listening?” 

“Do you know how many times you’ve told me that same thing?”

“What thing?”

“The ‘treat the guests with respect’ speech? Cause I counted, you’ve done it 22 times this month—and it’s only the 10th.” Freddy winces, settling tiredly into his seat, eyes closed and frown prominent. You look at him awkwardly, you’ve never quite gotten that reaction out of him before. For the first time since you met him, he shows some emotion besides stern disappointment. It’s just too bad that that emotion seems to be utter exhaustion. “Uh, I didn’t mean for you to…” 

He pinches the bridge of his nose, “You know what? You can go.”

“Freddy I—”  
He scowls at you as he sharply stands up and thrusts his hand towards the door, “I SAID GO!”

You scramble out of your chair, knocking it to the ground with a crack. The door slams open, then shut. Your breathing is shallow now and more of a panting. The family sitting near to Freddy’s office stares at you, whispering among themselves about whatever they think just happened. You want to glare at them, but you want to avoid having to talk to Freddy much more. It’s far quieter in the restaurant than it should be: no music, no laughter, no screaming, nothing. Looking up you meet the eyes of every man, woman, and child in Freddy Fazbear’s pizzeria. They’re all just stuck still gawking at you like you just got back from murdering some freaking kids. You shake your hand in dismissal at the crowd. If you tell them off Freddy’s going to have your head. You would go back to work, but you’ve been humiliated enough today. It’s time to get some coffee in the break room; you’ve got about 5 hours to go and you’re not doing it on no caffeine. 

In between the two halls and right next to the security office lay a small employee breakroom. As you cross the threshold from the public dining rooms to the employee only safe haven, the smell of pizza is snuffed out from the fog of coffee and poor life choices. The corridors away from the masses have always been a comfort to you, if not for the flickering lights. It always strikes you as strange that management never bothers to change the lights. Albeit this place isn’t really a “fine establishment” as Freddy claims to believe. 

The creaky, poorly kept door to the breakroom would be pretty much invisible if you didn’t know what you were looking for. You happily turn the knob and bash your body into the door. It begrudgingly opens with its bottom dragging and screaming across the floor. The room is about as glamorous as a gas station bathroom, complete with an occasionally working coffee machine and a couch that your real boss surely found for free on someone’s lawn. For as long as you’ve been working here, the place has never had any wall paper or paint to speak of, reminiscent of an unfinished basement. Sitting on that very trashy couch are the most likely sources of its ripped holes. Namely the two other animatronic performers, Bonnie and Chica. You guess they must have taken five when Freddy decided to get all in your face about the yelling incident.

“Hey guys,” you say, hoping they weren’t as angry as Freddy, “how’s it hanging?” They stop in what seems like a one sided conversation from Bonnie. He looks at you with no small amount of annoyance in his tense shoulders and squinted eyes. Chica, on the other hand, has a smile on her beak with her eyes closed in relief. You get the sense that she’s been waiting for a break from whatever Bonnie was ranting about.

“Hi sweetie, we’re fine in here,” Chica says in her sweet way, “how did Freddy treat you?”

“Just as terribly as all the other times,” you say as you make a beeline for the coffee machine, “he’s not even my boss, kind  
of, but he still bosses me around like he is.”

“That’s cause you suck,” Bonnie says with his signature cocky smile.

“Bonnie!” Chica says, giving him a little slap on the shoulder.

Bonnie chuckles, pats Chica on the head, and turns to you again, “nah, I was obviously joking, it’s Freddy that needs to get a stick out of his ass.” Chica slaps him again and Bonnie frowns down at her, “you aren’t seriously gonna tell me that he doesn’t, are you?”

“No, but I wouldn’t put it like that,” she says as she glares at Bonnie, “he’s just… a little stressed right now.”

You scoff into your cup of motivation, “that’s putting it lightly. Besides, what does he have to be stressed about? This place is popping more than ever!” They grimace, and turn to each other as if there was some grand secret between them. “What?” You say, suddenly unsettled, “am I missing something?”

“That’s really a part of the problem,” Chica says gravely, “with all these new customers and new employees, Freddy is at his wits end trying to keep everyone in line. He’s terribly scared that if he doesn’t…” Chica interlocks her hands and pays special attention to the floor.

“I mean,” Bonnie stumbles over his words, his normal aura of mischievous self-assurance gone, “it’s not like it could happen again, right? Freddy is just being paranoid. He’s always trying to keep everything in check, and if the real owner wasn’t such a piece of shit he wouldn’t have to be so neurotic.” He looks at Chica in desperation, far tenser than he was when you barged in, “say, have you heard of that new band? You know, the one that played around here the other day?” 

The whole room feels a lot colder than it was just seconds ago, even your cup of heaven doesn’t have the same warmth. Feeling like you just stepped into a funeral, you dump your cup down the sink and head out before you can make things any worse. Bonnie’s attempts at conversation go unacknowledged by Chica. Not wanting to piss them off, you shut the door as quietly as you can. Although you didn’t get kicked out directly this time, it still feels as though you got into something you weren’t meant to see. If Chica and Bonnie are that wound up, you can only imagine how Freddy’s been feeling. 

A new wave of guilt washes over you as you head back to the party area. Has Freddy really been worried about everyone this whole time? Have you been making it worse? What are they all so worried about anyways? Is no one going to question why these animatronics are so human? Or why they make you feel so awkward all the time? Truly, this place is far more fascinating than you ever dreamed of.

You stop dead in your tracks as the door in front of you jiggles with the promise of someone on the other side. You back up, realizing that you’re at Freddy’s office once again. There’s no doubt that once he steps outside and sees you he’s going to yell at you again for slacking off. The door opens, narrowly avoiding your precious face, and Freddy steps out with his head hung low. He turns away from you and heads in the direction of the stage, seemingly unaware of you standing terrified just a few inches away. He marches like a solider headed to a battle he knows he’ll lose, hands clasped behind his back as if he’s thinking. Grabbing the back-room’s handle, he glances at the children running around with what you think is a smile before he disappears into the employee only zone. 

You stand in place, shame for your own actions and the sorry state of your sort-of boss dragging you down like a pair of concrete shoes. The thought of him sitting in that awful little room just to escape from everything is more than you can bare. Him sadly staring at all those awful little heads and spare parts must be like looking at organs for you. And the last time you tried it you can’t say that you particularly enjoyed even being in the same room as unused organs. For the first time since you met him you find yourself feeling sorry for him. You wish there was something you could do to help him, just to make him feel a little bit better, but what? It’s not like you can force the customers to be less rambunctious, or your fellow employees to be less annoying. Your mind falls back to the age-old question: what would someone do if this was a movie? 

Your face flushes as a myriad of answers come flooding in, all of them of the… inappropriate variety. You mean, it’s definitely a possibility, but this is a children’s restaurant! And he’s your boss! Sort of! And he’s a rule fanatic! There’s no way he would even think about it! The heat in your groin urges you to try it. You realize that you probably could use a little stress relief too. You have to admit, you doubt that Freddy would be the kind of person who would even try to do something about his stress; he seems like he would just try to ignore it. Or, more accurately, take it out on you whenever possible. You jolt out of your internal debate as your hand touches the cold knob to the back-room. The reality of what you’re about to do excites and terrifies you at the same time. Are you really about to get it on with your sort-of boss? The door slowly opening answers your question, yes, you are about to do the deed with your “boss” in a children’s restaurant surrounded by creepy animatronic heads. Sounds romantic.

You carefully peak your head into the stuffy back-room, attempting to be as stealthy as possible. Only to meet the eyes of Freddy as soon as you look up. You shoot inside the room and close the door before any little brat tries to worm their way inside. The burst of adrenaline combined with the knowledge of what is about to transpire forces you to pant.

“Can I… help you, [Y/N]?” Freddy asks, stepping away from you.

You look back at him, your face surely as red as the shitty pizza sauce in the kitchen, “Uh, yeah, sort of.” 

He looks no less nervous from your bizarre entrance, but he does relax his body just a smidgen as he rests against the table. “What can I help you with? Did something… happen out there?”

You stare at him, confusion in your squinted eyes. You flinch as the meaning of his question dawns on you. “No, no, nothing happened out there.”

“So, you just decided to bother me for no reason?” You suddenly remember how you were feeling about Freddy not even an hour ago. You try to string together a chain of words that will somehow convince him to go along with your incredibly poorly thought out plan. As you stand in front of him, face flushed and mind in the gutter, Freddy clears his throat. Awkwardly as a hormone fueled teen on prom night, you back Freddy into a corner of the broom closet sized space you find yourselves in. Your mouth tries to find words that your brain cannot comprehend, causing you to flap your mouth not unlike a fish. Freddy is more unsettled than ever, not that you blame him, and he tries to nudge you out of his way, “If you don’t have anything to tell me, I think I’ll be taking my leave now.” 

He manages to get past you, and you realize that your chance at possible freedom from Freddy’s reign of stress is slipping away. You make an odd little gasping noise, and Freddy turns around to see what you’re going to do this time. With the feeling that a pink slip is in your near future, you take a leap of faith at Freddy, literally. You both fall to the floor with the sound of a fluffy shelf tumbling to the ground. You find yourself pinning Freddy down by his biceps (you never noticed how large they really were until now) with your crotch pressed into his stomach (you did notice how large that was). The two of you lock eyes, and you find yourself admiring how pristinely blue they are. He, on the other hand, seems a bit preoccupied with trying to figure out just what the hell you are doing. 

“Fazbear,” you start with a crack in your voice, “we need to talk about your stress problem.” It wasn’t exactly the suave opening you wanted, but it’ll do. He looks at you as if you had just told him you wanted to assassinate the queen of England. “You’ve been running yourself into the ground, and you’ve taken me with you. I’m sick of your constant scolding, and I hope you’re not fond of it either. I’ve thought of a way to solve both our problems.” You halt in your not very sexy speech to see Freddy trying to wiggle his way out of your grip.

“You do know that an animatronic can’t be killed, right?” He says, panic in his face and voice, “Hell, we can run on almost no battery, there’s no way you could get away with this.” It occurs to you that your little speech may have come across as a mad employee about to kill their boss, at least to Freddy. Or maybe it had something to do with you jumping him. “The only reason I haven’t thrown you off yet is because you humans are so very—,” Freddy clenches his teeth as you adjust your position. 

You aren’t really sure of how you can brooch the subject at hand, but hopefully he understands what you mean when you push your crotch on his. Your awkward position forces your head closer to his, close enough to notice the steady blush spreading across his cheeks. At least he seems to get it now. He moves his hands like he’s about to adjust his tie, but your careful placement of weight stops him. He seems to realize that he isn’t going anywhere in a hurry, so he settles for glaring at you with a kind of contempt you don’t recall seeing from him before. It kind of scares you, if you’re being honest.

“I’ll have you know that this counts as harassment,” Freddy says, trying to find an ounce of control, “I will not hesitate to put this on your employee record.”

You grimace, “See Fazbear, that’s your problem, you’re always worrying about rules and codes and records and conducts. When’s the last time you did something for yourself?”

“I was trying to have some alone time before you barged in, someone has to take inventory now and then.”

“That’s not taking time for yourself, that’s working. Can you name one time in the last… let’s say month, that you did anything to relax?” He opens his mouth to tell you something, but he closes it just as fast. “See? That’s what I mean. Because I’m so nice, I decided I would take it upon myself to help you work off some of that stress.”

He looks utterly unimpressed, “by raping me?”

You grind your teeth, “Look, I know I’m not your favorite person by any means, and frankly you’re not mine either,” he harrumphs in response, “but I cannot take another day of the both of us being more stressed than the night guard when he comes in each day.” He gives a knowing chuckle, and you hope that means you’re making some kind of progress. “So, I think we can easily help each other burn off all this tension. I’m not saying we have to date or fall in love or something, I just want to help you feel a bit more at ease, you know?”

Freddy gives you a conniving grin, “What makes you think I have the parts for that? I’m a children’s entertainer you know, I have no need for—.”

“The bulge pressing up against me says otherwise,” you say with a similar grin. His smile falls into a look of pure embarrassment, followed by him busying himself with the closest wall. It dawns on you that he probably doesn’t want this, “Are you in?” You ask, finding yourself worried about the very real possibility that this may be how rapists are born, “cause I do want this, but I’m not about to force this on you.” A part of you thinks that it might be a bit too late for that.

Freddy takes a deep breath, even though he doesn’t have lungs, and turns to you with a mix of worry, acceptance, and a hint of excitement. “You know what? Fine, let’s try this little plan of yours.” He mumbles something about it not working in some absurdly long length of time. You decide to ignore it though, and focus on the thing pressing against you surprisingly nicely. 

You shimmy your way down, deciding that you’re probably safe in letting his arms go. Sitting on your heels, you take his equipment in. Despite the fact that a children’s animatronic has no use for genitals, Freddy’s is definitely not disappointing. It’s not too long, but the width is something to strive for. It somewhat resembles a microphone, with the black tip and the vinyl shaft. The whitish length looks inflexible, but you hope it won’t feel like you’re trying to make love to a pole. The plating and especially the edges look really intimidating, but it’s not like you’re planning to enjoy this or something: this is strictly business. You start to unbutton your Freddy Fazbear company issued khakis with as little show as you can muster.

Freddy roughly grabs your arm, “wait!” He sputters out, “you can’t just go right in!” He drags you up to his face, and—wow he’s red. “Haven’t you heard of foreplay?” You’re both sitting up now, your butt awkwardly sitting just a few centimeters from his dick.

You realize that he’s managed to put rules to sex, but you guess you can play along. “What were you thinking?” 

“I was, well, thinking we could…” he draws your face closer to his, still dragging you by your arm. You realize what he’s trying to accomplish, you take pity on him and close the gap with your lips. He sighs through the kiss, hopefully relieved that he doesn’t have to stumble into it. He rakes his hands though your hair, giving you something like a scalp massage. Without warning he tugs on your hair hard enough to break the kiss. He grins at you mischievously, “that was for jumping me.”

Not about to let him have all the revenge, you slam your lips back into his. He playfully keeps his mouth closed, and you can still feel his stupid smile. You bite his lip as hard as you can, not worrying about damaging him as you’re fairly certain the industrial fabric he’s made of can take your bite. He opens up on reflex and you take the time to poke around. His mouth is surprisingly human like, complete with a polyester tongue. It’s even warm, you think as you try and imagine you’re making out with anyone who isn’t a stuffed animatronic bear. 

He pulls away, breathless without any breath in the first place, “what was that for?”

“All the times you yelled at me for no reason.” You look down to his lip, the only evidence of your outburst being a barely noticeable teeth shaped imprint. At least the kids won’t think you tore their beloved mascot. 

“I’m,” Freddy begins, and you look up to see something like regret in his eyes, “sorry about all that. I just… needed some way to vent some of it, you know?”

“And you choose me?” You feel a little bad as he hangs his head in shame. “I’m sorry too, I guess. I may have been trying to piss you off a few of those times.” He glares at you, “but only a few!” He pinches the bridge of his nose like he does when you really get under his skin (suit?), and you feel almost bad for him again. “Truce?” You try.

He looks at you, eyes holding an expression of defeat, “truce.”

“Now,” you say, reaching for the button of your pants, “let’s try this again.”

Once again Freddy stops you, only this time he holds your hand instead of dislocating your arm. “Did you not listen when I said foreplay?”

“I thought we just did foreplay?” He drags his free hand across his face like a cartoon character. Clearly having enough with words, Freddy points to his cock in a gesture that reminds you of… “Ohhhhh I get it now!” You say feeling like you just solved the Voynich manuscript, “you want a blowjob!” A creaky sort of sigh noise came out of his chest. You assume that means yes, yes you little idiot, I was one step away from spelling it out to you, so thank you for noticing. You think, at least.

As you slide down to face off with Freddy’s member you “accidently” rub on it all the way down; you make sure to go as slowly as you can manage. The buttons of your shirt don’t seem to faze him as it would a real person, you guess that it being made of metal has something to do with it. He’s nearly as stoic as he is most of the time, but your ministrations paint his face a deep red. His eyes are far more focused than they usually are, like he’s studying your performance for your monthly review or something. You hope you’re doing a good job in that case.

Getting as comfortable as you can, you shift to balancing yourself on your hands and knees to avoid any hurt backs. You’re much closer to his dick than you ever wanted to be, close enough to can make out both the rubbery texture of the head as well as a small inscription just below it that reads “©Afton Robotics”. Something about it being confirmed that the company you work for does indeed invest in things like these is a little disturbing. But, you can’t be too distracted by that revelation, you’ve got a dick to suck.

Taking him into your hand, you give it a few tentative pumps to see what you’re working with. His machinery must not be too active in his member, as he’s pretty cold, but you’re proudish to note that it gets hotter as you stroke. Like a strange parody of skin the vinyl plates give a little each time you pull up or down. They’re comfortably smooth to boot, each one like a piece of a pool was chiseled down, smoothed out, and carefully stuck to a robot who didn’t need them. As your hand gets slicker from sweat and you can move faster, you notice little bumps that make Freddy twitch each time you run over them. Perhaps that’s how this is pleasurable for him? Maybe then the every so finely bumpy surface his head is an erogenous zone? Only one way to find out.

You’re rewarded with a grunt from Freddy as you swipe across his penis with your tongue. The rough surface has a faint taste of rubber, but also of something a little sweet. You paradoxically hope and dread that you’re tasting some kind of pizza flavoring. That would be absolutely amazing, at least conceptually. Eagerly, you seal your lips around the head and suck like you’ve never sucked before. Freddy whines in the most pathetic way you’ve ever heard and pushes you down subconsciously to get away from the harsh pleasure. Your teeth scrape against the robotic rod and Freddy curls into you with a lewd gasp. His legs shifting up into you force you to bury your hands into his plush legs to keep your balance. Your back is arched now, your butt on an embarrassing display for all the unused heads to gawk at. The thought, despite your best wishes, adds on to the already sexy scene and causes the hot feeling in your nether regions to grow into a burn. This is supposed to be an intervention for Freddy, not for you to get aroused! A lecherous moan reminds you of what you’re doing, and you’re surprised to find out that you’ve been bobbing your head all the time you’ve been thinking. His cock is slick with your saliva, making it easy to increase the speed. You try to give all the little bumps as much attention as possible, rubbing your tongue over the whole shaft as you lift yourself up and down. You wish he would finish already, as your arms are starting to get tired: this plus busting tables all day would be enough to really get anyone tired, you think. 

“I, hnngg, don’t mean to bother you, but I—oh that’s good—believe I am about to finish,” Freddy punctuates his statement by grabbing your head and thrusting into your surprised mouth. Surprised A) because you’ve never heard anyone act that polite that close to orgasm and B) because he’s sort of choking you. In a moment of panic, you rip your head away from his grip and accidently scrape your teeth across him once again. Instead of yelling at you for hurting him, or for edging him, Freddy cums just as you scrape by his tip. This combined with the fact that he’s still sort of holding you in place leads to him shooting his synthetic load all over your face. You sincerely hope that the stuff is safe for people, cause a fair amount makes its way into your mouth and down your throat.

“Freddy!” You gag at the frosting flavored liquid, “you almost killed me!”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he huffed out, “I may not be a sex fiend, unlike you, but I know what a person can take.” As you continue to cough as theatrically as you can manage, Freddy grabs a nearby towel. He firmly takes your face into his hand and wipes off the sticky substance. 

You take the calm, almost romantic moment to absolutely ruin it, “so are you a masochist or something? Cause you really seemed to like me teething you.”

“I’m not like a human man,” he says, in a tone far too deep and firm to have just cum like he did, “I need a bit stronger contact to feel good, but rest assured that it did still hurt.” His voice shifts into a deeper, more sensual octave, “that’s why I need to punish you.”

A lump of fear and a pang of arousal fill your systems, “I didn’t mean to hurt you!” You blurt out, “I didn’t even mean to use my teeth! It was an accident! Please don’t hurt me.” Your face twists into one of panic, and you tense up your body in preparation for whatever cruel lesson Freddy had in mind. You feel like maybe you should be a little shocked that Freddy is into that dom/sub stuff, but honestly, you’d be more surprised if he isn’t. He stops wiping your face to give you a seriously? expression, but if you look close enough you could see faint concern. However, you are too busy imagining all the possible ways Freddy could find to torture you to notice either of those things. He could tell your real boss what you did, he could blackmail you to work for less pay, or he could push you to the ground and start removing your shirt—wait what?

“If I knew you were such a neurotic,” he says, the sound of annoyance on his breath, “I would have done this to begin with.” He’s pinning you to the ground now, sitting on his knees on either side of your pelvis to avoid any lawsuits.

“What do you mean?” You ask, trying not to show just how much of a neurotic you really were. He answers with pulling your unbuttoned shirt off you and teasing your nipples. It certainly doesn’t address your confusion, but it does take any other questions away from you. A tiny moan squeezes out of your lips as he moves on to rubbing them in circles. His hands are just as soft as the rest of him, and they feel heavenly as he massages your chest. “I thought this was supposed to be stress management for you,” you gasp out.

He halts for a moment, “I can’t be relaxed if you aren’t too.” You almost chastise him for how kind that is but him ripping off your pants is just a bit distracting. He repositions himself so his face is right next to your unmentionables. There’s a tense moment where you both lock eyes, a silent conversation about confusion and assurance being played out in less than a second. “I just want to make sure you’re ready for me,” he tells you in his strict way, “I hope you’d agree with me that that would be for the best.”

“Yeah I guess so…” you mutter, the mix of fear, arousal, and his commanding voice making it hard to think. 

Freddy, like the metaphorical weasel that he is, casually drags your underwear down, chucking them into some random corner of the room. You don’t have any time to tell him off for treating your undergarments without respect though, cause he’s already pushing your legs apart and inspecting your goods. Typically, you would expect your partner to make some comment on your junk, maybe something about it looking good or unimpressive, but Freddy just stares like he’s deciding about whether to buy something or not. His eyelids are half closed, he looks bored as hell, and he’s just fucking staring at it. 

“You certainly are ready for me, huh?” He says like you’re discussing the weather.

“Just do something, Fazfuck,” you reply like you’re being tortured.

His eyes widen a bit, then he shrugs his shoulders with a metal creak, and he starts stroking your sex. He starts by kneading the whole thing, not really focusing on any one part. He finds your most sensitive point, and uses his foam core hands to rub it in little, torturous circles. You’re moaning now, quietly of course: you are still in a children’s restaurant after all. Maybe in a less bizarre circumstance you’d compliment him on his skills, but this is Freddy and you still kind of hate him. So, you mutter about how much he sucks instead, and even quieter you remark that he should suck you. You hiss out a genuine compliment when he licks it up and down. That weird, fabric tongue is just good enough for you, the way it moves and bends ignites you in bliss. Out of left field, you feel one of his comically large hands trying to pry open your entrance, causing you to slap his hands away.

“What the hell dude?” You say, trying to be as assertive as possible, “your fingers are the size of vibrators and they are made of foam and fur and those are going to hurt like hell if you just stick them in my private hole.” You both stare at each other, you in trying to hammer in your point and him trying to decode what the fuck came out of your mouth. 

“I don’t think that was grammatically correct,” he tells you at last.

You almost scream, “just—” you shove his face right in your gonads*, “start licking.”

He looks at you with a grin on his lips, although you can’t see them very well, “oh ho ho, you want me to fuck you with my tongue? How naughty of you~.”

“Please stop talking,” you say, half ready to call it quits.

Obediently, he circles your hole with his slightly slick animatronic tongue, rubbing his artificial saliva all around. Languidly, Freddy pushes his tongue inside you with a bit of struggle. You can’t help but notice how similarly this feels to having a really bad wedgie, only this time the underwear make you feel good instead of embarrassed. True to his word Freddy begins to slide his tongue in and out of you, going deeper each time. A perplexing feeling of being filled resonates throughout your body, along with Freddy burying his tongue as deep as it can go. Something slick and viscous fills your core at the same time. You wonder with sudden panic what sort of witchcraft Freddy just pulled. You lift your top up on your hands and see a clear liquid leaking out of where Freddy’s tongue just was. He’s propped himself up on his elbows now, and he’s grinning like a school boy who just got away with the most amazing prank.

“That was a special feature,” he says, “I ramped up my saliva production manually so I could enter as smoothly as possible.”

“Ok…” you mutter, feeling oh so uncomfortable, “but… what the fuck?”

He curtly laughs at your misery, “you said my fingers were uncomfortable, so I gave them a nice and slippery place to go!”

“That’s still sort of disgusting,” you say, wondering who in their right mind would give such a feature to something for children.

Freddy doesn’t seem to care about your vibrant disgust; He just sticks his own fingers into his mouth and you watch in utter fascination as they get a liberal coating of saliva. He continues to stare you down as he drops back to the ground and pushes one massive finger into you. Despite the definite sensation of something that doesn’t belong in you sloshing around, you moan at the appendage prodding into your depths. Your arms shake as he pumps his slimy finger faster with each passing second. You plop on your back as he inserts another sleek digit into you, already feeling full to the brim. He covers your mouth for reasons you can’t understand, but when he curls his fingers right into your sweet spot you thank him for both with a muffled scream. You hope to God that no one is listening in on your little excursion, because you know that this isn’t even the finale. He somehow enters a third finger, and you’re pretty sure that he’s struggling against the bones and muscles. You’re certainly struggling to not break the sound barrier, that’s for damn sure. You feel the knot in your stomach threatening to burst, condensing into a point of pure pleasure—just as Freddy retracts his hand.

You lay there, sweaty and confused, “why…?” You manage to whisper.

“Oh, were you about to come?” Freddy asks in that special way that people do when they mean everything they’ve done, “I didn’t notice.”

You barely have the energy to call him some kind of terrible blight upon mankind, but for the sake of your pride you manage. Freddy chuckles at your misery, having enough pity in him to lift you up onto his lap for the final round. Shaking with the lack of orgasm, you unwillingly hook your arms around his neck as he pulls you in for a quick kiss. Thankfully he turned off whatever thing let him produce saliva like a factory, so your kiss isn’t a water slide. He surely can taste the remnants of his cum and you definitely can taste yours. His faux fur is warm from his excitement, a welcome change from the cold concrete of the floor. Although neither of you paid much attention to his arousal during your turn to have fun, you can feel it fully pressurize against your back side. He wraps his hands around your waist, kneading the flesh there.

Not wanting to be completely dominated, you break the kiss off, try not to pay attention to the string of spit connecting your mouths, and position yourself above his member. There’s a tense moment as you look into each other’s eyes. You see a confident glow in his, and he sees a tentative fog in yours. He gives you a warm smile, his flushed face expressing reassurance and condescension all at the same time. You think back on how much you hate him, how many times he’s been a total ass, and how even through this attempt at a truce he’s still slighted you at every opportunity. He thinks the same thing, how you treat his authority as nonexistent, how you know just how to push his buttons, and even as he did so much right you still spouted curses on him. 

At the same time, you both slam yourselves together, him thrusting his hips upward and you thrusting yours downward. Neither of you bother to go slowly, starting at a grueling pace. The sound of slick skin slapping into tough hide echoes in the stuffy room. You’re already both huffing away, Freddy creating a visible steam like a smoke stack. You rock your sweaty hips into his fluffy ones, relishing the muffled clap it produces. Feeling a hint saucy, you snatch his hat from his head, surprising him with the sound of Velcro ripping off, and stuck it to your head. He stops for a second to gape into your mischievous face. The next second he grins back, eyelids half closed, and eyebrows questioning. You feel a tiny voice say that that face is bad news, but it shifts into a scream of pleasure when he finally finds your sweet spot again.

The ridges and bumps of his unique manhood feel like a vastly improved dildo: which you snidely let him know. He takes your hips into his hands, pumping you hard against him like a living sex toy. Embarrassingly you moan like a damn whore at the rough treatment. Not one to be outdone, you sink your teeth into the bundle of wires that makes up his neck. Now it’s his turn to groan like a hooker as you graciously lick the tiny dents in his metal. You shift your hands down his chest and onto his large, fuzzy stomach where you dig in with your fingers. To your amazement, Freddy hugs you closer and freaking whines at you. His face is condensed into a cute look of intense gratification, you’ll definitely have to use that against him in the future.

“Wow you are really really! Bad at this,” you pant, on the brink of orgasm.

“Not as bad as—ahhh—you,” Freddy gasps, reaching up to fondle your chest. His pace breaks its constant pattern, jittering down into short, harsh bursts of movement. You, on the other hand, can feel yourself tightening around him like a vice.

Freddy’s eyes go piercing white as something warm and sticky fills you up. He stops moving, though you can hear machinery audibly firing off faster and louder than it had during the whole excursion. Your mind slips into ecstasy as he slams himself right into your sweet spot. The world turns a brilliant white, your body spasms around his. You bury your face into his furry shoulder, and your teeth sink into the fake skin. For a moment, you both are in heaven, silently praying and thanking the other for the undeniable pleasure.

The world becomes clear again, the smell of his suit and the putrid feeling of something sloshing around inside of you magnifying until it’s all you can think about. You peel yourself off Freddy, a sticky coating of sweat acting like a glue. A few stray hairs of his stick to you in places you pray no one notices later. As you rise off his dick all the frosting-like cum he seems to make drips out of you at its own sickening pace. Freddy’s eyes come back to the baby blue you know and tolerate, no traces of that unnerving white left. Steam rises out of the cracks in his suit, and you hope that doesn’t mean you broke him or something because the cost is surely not covered in your pay check. His odd member retracts back into him, one plate folding over another until brown patches of his suit come to cover the hole up. Who knew it was there the whole time?

“So,” you say, squatting awkwardly to tempt Freddy’s frosting filling out of you, “do you feel a little more relaxed?”

He laughs in his deep way, a little more genuine than before, “that was the reason, wasn’t it?” He takes the hat from your head and reattaches it to his, “I do believe you’ve succeeded, that was just what I needed.” You pump your fist in the air in celebration, “if you did any worse I might’ve fired you,” you’re not fist pumping any more.

“What? Why! I just wanted to help!”

“You jumped a higher up and solicited him for sex, you’re lucky to not be on the sex offenders list.” 

Your face goes red at his playful smile, “well, you’re lucky I don’t tell everyone how much you suck cause you got to come twice and I only got to do that once!” He looks at you confused, “Like what kind of lover, I still don’t like you by the way, doesn’t even give his partner a good time? A bad one! That’s what.”

He hums at your poor attempt at a threat, “yes, I suppose I didn’t even punish you either,” he leans in to your ear, “that’s why next time I’ll be sure to do both.” He stands up, ignoring your cherry red face, “since this is where we store a few of the cleaning supplies, I’m sure you’ll be able to find enough to make yourself look presentable. I would stay and help, but the children must be missing me.”

You glance around for something to freshen yourself up with, when a red light makes you freeze, “Freddy, is there a security guard during the day?”

He regards you oddly, looking a little perturbed himself, “of course, we wouldn’t want any incidents occurring. We actually had to get the night guard to watch today since the day guard was sick.” He tries to follow your gaze, “were you worried that the guard might come in here? The night guard isn’t used to walking around so he’s using… the… cameras…” His eyes settle on the red blinking light in horror. Both your fears being confirmed when the light stops glowing and the camera stops moving: the pervert of a guard must have realized that he’d been caught. Freddy straightens his posture, adjusts his bow tie, and turns back to you. He looks stressed again, though his eyes are white again like they were when he came. “I think I’ll have to teach the guard not to watch when there aren’t any problems. You can take the rest of the day off, but be ready tomorrow, I’m not going easy on you just because of this.”

“Yes sir,” you murmur as he leaves the room, bothering to close the door too quick for any sneaking eyes to catch you in there. You look around the room in a daze, the afterglow fading quickly. The heads come into view once more, overwhelming you with how depressing this little room really is. You try and ignore the voice screaming at you for doing something so risky, instead focusing on how for at least a minute, you got Freddy to calm down. “Mission complete,” you say to yourself as you fumble around for something to clean yourself off with.

**Author's Note:**

> *this refers to the part of the body that creates reproductive cells, which can be the testes or the ovaries, and for guys this is close to the anus, so you can’t tell me this doesn’t apply to both sexes. Also, the word gonad is funny so I’m still using it.


End file.
